


Distant Voices

by sad_pterodactyl



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, ds9 - Fandom
Genre: Episode: s03e18 Distant Voices, Internal Monologue, M/M, Missing Scene, Other, Pre-Relationship, Sickbed vigil, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29251974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sad_pterodactyl/pseuds/sad_pterodactyl
Summary: After the Lethean thief's attack Bashir has to fight for his life in his own mind (as seen in s03e18 Distant Voices) - in the meantime all that Garak can do is wait. Wait and think.
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Distant Voices

_“...his pulse is steadily falling; his brain activity ceased on all frequencies outside of the delta waves. There is some telepathical damage, but we won’t know the extent of it, unless he wakes up on his own.”_

_“The bottom line is...?”_

_“In short: Julian is dying and we have no idea how to stop it. At this pace he has maybe three hours left.” Someone, Sisko probably, sighed deeply._

_“I’ll be in my office.”_

Garak switched off the display with just a tad more force than necessary and stopped his gaze at the empty wall. _Three hours._

_Does humans consider aging a bad thing?_ Flickered in his memory. Apparently you won’t have to worry about that anymore, my dear Doctor. You won’t even have to worry about the dreaded thirty birthday as well. Some part of his mind was aware of the fact that he was rambling. As much as rambling to oneself in the quiet of your own mind could be called rambling. But yes, it certainly could. The constant stream of words there to keep the reality at bay a while longer. If that wasn’t rambling then he didn’t know what was.

He knew what happened of course. Anyone with half a brain could figure it out in his place. The Leathan they met in the morning - an icy kind of anger turmoiled at him at the thought. But he knew also that the wretched creature was safely locked away under ever watchful eye of Odo. And if there was one potential opponent on this station that Garak truly respected, it would be the changeling. Also, as much as it pained him to admit that killing the thief wouldn’t help Julian any more than Garak’s current rambling.

He saw the whole exchange; he was as informed as possible to whys of someone breaking into the Infirmary. The whys of _hurting_ doctor Bashir. He enjoyed it even. The display of course. He knew he will enjoy it since he caught in the corner of his eye Quark coming up to them with the monstrous client. To see the doctor in his ever prevailing Starfleet virtue challenged by something as ridiculously simple as a bribe! The offer itself and the decline of it would be boring. Predictable. But to see it enacted by the dear doctor? To see if Bashir will be simply professional, or outraged? Will he call for security? Or will he stand up for himself?

Oh, that wasn’t even a question, how Julien could ever resist a bit of dramatic flair?

And on Guls and Glinns he did enjoy that.

How Bashir’s young face retracted from a charming smile to what was supposed to be a stern officer. How his whole posture straightened and gained a few centimeters. How in his naive confidence Bashir declined and forgot about the whole incident as if it was a spilled _raktajino_ and not a suspiciously looking stranger desperately trying to procure a dangerous substance.

The rest really wrote itself. Ever diligent, doctor Bashir, had to apparently come back to the Sick Bay late in the evening and catch the thief in the act. He probably demanded that Altovar return what he stole with the same commanding voice he used in the cantina.

The Leathans weren’t exactly numerous. Or too common, as their society apparently revolved around closed monasteries in the middle of a sun drenched desert. But if Garak was good at something it was knowing what could kill you in this friendly galaxy. The telepathic attack of leathans left in your mind a mirror image of the attacker who slowly, part by part disassembled your inner psyche. The strain leaked life from the body till there was nothing.

Not many sentients could defend themselves against something like that.

_Three hours._

It happens now, doesn’t it? Somewhere there Bashir is still breathing; his heart is still pumping blood, but slower and slower with every minute. Is he aware of what’s happening? No one knows. No one will know ever again most likely.

There is nothing he can do. And he won’t do anything. Why should he? There’s a whole room of highly qualified star fleet officers scurrying desperately to save his life. People who call Julian a friend. People who do care about him in their overindulgent, Federation manner. They will squirm and shout and run and they will save the day. That’s what will happen and whatever he, Elim Garak, a simple tailor will do or won’t doesn’t change anything. There is no cardassian secrets to spill, no information to be shared, no unclean plot to be made, no one to catch and no one to kill.

Only three hours to wait and... And do what exactly? It’s not like he’s going to pray and certainly there isn’t a god in this universe that would listen to him. He simply refuses himself to be pathetic and sulk and worry as if...

As if he cared.

_So you could forgive me._

_Alright Garak, I forgive you._

Why he even tries to deny it? It’s not even news to him. He knows that he does, that he cares deeply, more so than he ever expected. It’s not only curiosity or loneliness that pulls him to the lunches. It’s not always Cardassia that makes him fight these days also. His life isn’t any longer about surviving the exile and going back to his homeland in glory. It wasn’t for quite a while.

It’s not about the doctor either. Let’s not be ridiculous. It’s about making his customers smile, and about keeping the inhabitants of Terok Nor safe. It’s maybe about admitting to himself, just a little, that there was something to this whole notion of “free pursue of happiness”. Admittingly, Bashir is a part of all those. He certainly buys more pants than anyone could really wear. He is, without doubt this station inhabitant. And he is. He is someone that, given freedom to do so, Garak would pursue.

Not that it could ever happen. Starfleet doesn’t mix well with Obsidian Order and besides, Julian seems quite happy chasing after every pretty human-like girl he sets his eyes upon.

He gazed upon the chronometer.

_Two hours._

And to what am I counting down exactly? He could wake up by now. They could figure it out already.

Or Dax could over estimate and Bashir could be already dead.

That settled it. Without thinking much more Garak stood up and rushed for the Sick Bay. Inside he was greeted by Dax, working furiously at one of the computer panels. The Trill looked up when the door opened, gave him a sad, understanding smile and went back to work.

Next to her Bashir was lying, half covered and looking plain and simply as if peacefully asleep. The steady sounds of the machinery were ever slowing, slightly, but constantly.

There was nothing he could do.

But there were debts to be paid. Feeling strangely exposed and vulnerable Garak sat in the chair next to the bed and carefully took one of Bashir’s hands in his own. It was warm to the touch and the cardassian squeezed slightly.

_Fight, Doctor, fight. And trust no one._

**Author's Note:**

> Basically I adored the whole trick with Bashir imagination putting Garak into the role of the one person he shouldn't trust. But still - what was the actual Garak doing at the time?
> 
> I love Garashir dearly, hit me in the comments if you do so yourself ^^


End file.
